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THERE REALLY IS 
A FATHER CHRISTMAS 




* 







THERE 
REALLY 
IS A 
FATHER 
CHRISTMAS 


E»V 


DOUGLAS L. FLINTAN 


Illustrated, by MARY JANE HOENE 


WILLETT, CLARK & COMPANY 

CHICAGO NEW YORK 
























Copyright 1938 by 
WILLETT, CLARK 6* COMPANY 


Manufactured in The U. S. A. by The Plimpton Press 
Norwood, Mass.-La Porte, Ind. 


*) 


C'cs A 


117690 

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m 21 ; l J38 



Gisela 


Iris 


TK is little tale is dedicated to Gisela Rutk and 
Iris /\nn l\Ai\\er / tke two little girls wko led 
an adopted uncle tack to a kalRforgotten/ 
wonderful land of makeJbelieve 






















































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THERE REALLY IS 
A FATHER CHRISTMAS 

















THERE REALLY IS 
A FATHER CHRISTMAS 



Whe chimney pots began it 
. . . or was it little Gisela? At any rate it all happened 
just as I am going to tell you, and that, after all, is the 
main thing. 

“ Tell me a story about Santa Claus,” said Gisela 
one day. Gisela, you must understand, is just eight 
years old, and when she wants something done she has 
a certain way of asking that makes it very hard to re¬ 
sist her. At that time I myself knew very little about 
the life story of Father Christmas. I knew, of course, 
that when I was a boy he had often made me happy on 
Christmas day, but Gisela, who is the grand-daughter 
of a professor, has an inquiring sort of mind, so she 
wanted to know more about dear old Santa Claus than 
this. 


-i- 


It would take too long to tell you just why I love 
Gisela, but in her own words I CAN tell you one of 
the reasons why she loves her old uncle. 

“ It is,” she says, “ because you always keep a 
promise.” 

So, having given my promise to find out every¬ 
thing I could about Santa Claus, I started the very next 
day to search through all sorts of old books, but no¬ 
where could I find the exact information I knew Gisela 
wished to have. Books, you see, merely say who Santa 
Claus’ father was — a man with the funny name of 
Epiphanius. Next they give you the date of Santa 
Claus’ birth, and then go on to say that when he grew 
up he was made a bishop, and later became the patron 
saint of little children. Just a lot of uninteresting his¬ 
torical facts, but not one word about the making of the 
toys, the filling of the stockings, or how it came about 
that Santa Claus climbs down the chimneys during the 
night before Christmas when all the children are asleep. 

No! The books were of no use, so I put them back 
on their shelves and sat down to wonder what I should 
do next. That promise to Gisela must be kept. 

If only some little bird, I said to myself, or, better 
still, one of the fairies, would come and whisper the in¬ 
formation in my ear. This sort of thing happens in 
fairy tales, so I could not see why it should not happen 
to me. 

That evening I went for a long, long walk right 
into the deep mysterious woods that were so beautiful 
in the moonlight. Here, I hoped, I might meet the 
-2- 


fairies, who, I felt sure, would be able to tell me the 
really interesting things concerning the life of Santa 
Claus. 

Fairies, as you all know, may more frequently 
be seen at night, so it was quite late when I 
started on this ramble through the forest. The moon 



was shining, but the night was cloudy. In fact the 
moon and the clouds seemed to be having a game of 
hide-and-seek with each other, and when the fleecy 
clouds drifted over the face of the moon the woods be¬ 
came so full of mystery and the strange sounds of little 
animals scurrying hither and thither that at times I 
was quite startled. 

Not a sign of fairies could I see, however; so 
on ... on ... on I walked, at times passing some 
ancient wayside inn hidden deep among the trees, at 
- 3 - 




which pilgrims may have rested hundreds of years ago 
when on their way to Canterbury. Now and then an 
old-world farm house would loom up suddenly in the 
semi-darkness and seem to pass by me. On ... on 
... I wandered among the dark trees that shook their 
leaves and whispered in a secret language. And then, 
quite unexpectedly, as I turned the corner of the wind¬ 
ing path, I came upon THE HOUSE. 

Never had I seen it before, although I had often 
passed that way. It was a house that would have at¬ 
tracted anyone’s attention. For one thing, it was sur¬ 
rounded by a curious and wonderful garden, full of 
shadows and strange nooks and hiding places that in 
the daytime would have delighted the heart of any 
child. 

In the garden was a tiny lake shining like a magic 
mirror in the moonlight, and stately swans glided about 
on its waters. On a little island in the middle of the lake 
was a miniature castle, and to a tree near by a goat was 
tethered. 

The house, with its many windows, its magnificent 
courtyard and terraces, had evidently been built in 
days when the world was very happy, perhaps when 
Queen Elizabeth and her Maids of Honour sang merry 
glees and children danced round maypoles. 

It seemed to whisper of happy children romping 
from room to room, of games of hide-and-seek, of little 
ones sliding down broad bannisters or roasting chest¬ 
nuts over cheerful winter fires. 

-4- 


The thought of those cozy fires caused me to look 
up at the roof. Never before had I seen a house with 
so many chimneys! The roof itself had many gables, 
and quaint old twisted chimneys seemed to be peeping 
at me from every nook and angle. 

So peaceful and happy did they seem that I paused 
for a moment to wonder what chimneys think about 
during the long night hours, and if, when all the world 
is asleep, they tell one another tales of the long-ago 
past. 

As I approached nearer to obtain a better view of 
this wonderful old-world house, I saw that some re¬ 
pairs, or perhaps alterations, were being carried out. 
Against one wall stood a tall ladder, and bricks and 
tools and wheelbarrows lay scattered about the ground. 
Suddenly I heard voices singing. . . . Who could be 
singing at such a time of night in this lonely part of the 
country? 

At first I thought it must have been my fancy, or 
that perhaps the wind was making sweet music in the 
trees, but again I heard the singing, and now it seemed 
to be coming from the direction of the roof of the old 
house. Who could it be? 

Creeping very silently, I approached the house 
and climbed the ladder that the builders had left lean¬ 
ing against the wall. Perched on this ladder I stood 
listening and . . . yes . . . it really was the old chim¬ 
neys who were singing softly. As I peeped over the 
edge of the roof I saw that a new little chimney had 
- 5 " 




just been built — that evidently was why the ladder 
was there — and the old chimneys were welcoming 
their new brother with a song. 



It was a legend of two chimney-pot lovers they 
were singing, and as nearly as I can remember these are 
the words they sang: 

A nice crooked chimney-pot once fell in love 
With a chimney-pot over the way! 

He lived on the roof of a cottage so small, 

And she on a palace so gay. 

Said he, “ The dear children who sit round my fire 
All love me, so why shouldn’t she? ” 

But alas, on his love she looked down with contempt, 

As heartless, as heedless could be. 

-6- 






He wafted her kisses wrapt up in blue smoke 
That rose from the burning peat logs, 

But in furious anger she twirled round her cowl, 

And treated him worse than the dogs. 

Said she, “ Do you think that a chimney like me 
Could stoop to such utter disgrace? 

For a lover I’ll wait till your hovel is dust, 

And a castle is built in its place. 

“ My lover must be a knight bold and brave, 

With a shining cowl fixed on his head; 

Our smoke it shall mingle in loving embrace 
Five hundred years after you’re dead.” 

Long years passed away, three hundred or more; 

In the cottage fire children still gaze, 

But over the way where the palace once stood, 

Midst the ruins the nanny-goats graze. 

It was wonderful to listen to the old chimneys sing¬ 
ing this love song. Often when Gisela came to visit me, 
while we made the hot buttered toast for our tea, we 
loved to listen to the kettle singing. And then there 
were the water-pipes — how merrily they could 
chuckle to themselves as the water running through 
them told of its many adventures! But never before 
had I heard of chimneys doing anything but smoke. 

Where, I wondered, had they learned the beauti¬ 
ful music to which they had set the legend of the 
chimney-pot lovers? Perhaps it was the tune of one 
of the madrigals that were sung in the days of Queen 
- 7 - 


Elizabeth, whose melodies had floated up the spacious 
chimneys. 

Suddenly a great hope came to me! These very 
chimneys on this old house, I said to myself, must have 
known Santa Claus for hundreds of years. If I stayed 
on the ladder and listened, would they, I wondered, tell 
their new little brother anything about him? 

Hurrah! I was right! One after another the 
chimneys began to tell the new little chimney tales of 
the days gone by. To many a story I listened of knights 
and princesses, to many a great adventure that had 
taken place in the days of old. Then came stories about 
the children who had lived and played in the old house. 
And at last, to my great joy, they began to tell their 
new brother about bygone Christmas days. Yo! Ho! 
How the chimneys beamed with pleasant memories as 
they told about the blazing Yule logs. Yo! Ho! How 
excited they became as they told about the fat turkeys 
that the dogs used to turn on spits before the cheerful 
winter fires! How vividly they described the delicious 
smell of the smoke as it ascended their long throats! 
What glorious tales they recounted of the many, many 
times Santa Claus had climbed down these very chim¬ 
neys to fill the children’s Christmas stockings! 

At first the new chimney seemed greatly puzzled. 
Having only just been born, he of course knew nothing 
about the beautiful story of Father Christmas. 

“ Who is Santa Claus? ” he asked. 

How eagerly I listened for the reply! Perhaps I 
would hear the very story I wanted for Gisela. Who 
- 8 - 


better than these old chimneys could know about dear 
old Santa Claus? Who better than they could tell me 
how it came about that he climbs down the chimneys 
and fills the children’s stockings with toys and candies? 

Now an old twisted chimney took from his mouth 
the pipe he was smoking — all chimneys smoke, you 
know — and after slowly knocking out the ashes, he 
said, “ Every chimney ought to know all about Santa 
Claus, so I will tell you the story of his life as it has been 
handed up to us.” 



-9~ 


■Sin the old city of Patara,” 
he began, “ there lived long, long ago a merchant and 
his wife, who, although they were ever so rich, were 
not happy, for as yet God had not sent them any chil¬ 
dren. Whenever they looked at their jewels or counted 
their money they would exclaim, ‘ How willingly would 
we give up all this wealth if God would only send us a 
little son! ’ 

“ Quite often, when the merchant was counting 
his money, he would sing softly to himself, and I will 
sing for you the song he sang. It went like this: 

This wealth! This wealth! It makes me wild! 

I’d give it all for a little child, 

An Ida, Gisela, or one of those Besses, 

A dear little Iris with long flowing tresses, 

A tinker, a tailor, or one who could bake 
On each kiddy’s birthday a very nice cake, 

Or a dear little man who would spend all his life 


With a hammer and chisel and keen-cutting knife, 
Designing and making most heavenly toys 
For dear little, dear little, dear little girls, 

And dear little, dear little boys.” 

Gisela will like that song, I said to myself, as, by 
the light of the moon, who at that moment was IT in 
the game with the clouds, I quickly jotted down the 
words. 

“ One night,” the old chimney went on, “ the mer¬ 
chant’s wife had a wonderful dream. She dreamed the 
fairies brought her a little son and told her that she was 
to name him Nicholas. The strangest part was that in 
her dream, although her son grew up to be a man, he 
never seemed to die. She could tell, for in one part of 
her dream she saw castles being built, then, ages later, 
she saw them in ruins. Once she caught glimpses of 
knights in shining armour and ladies in curious dresses, 
but these also faded away, and then came men and 
women wearing costumes even more strange. But 
through it all her son, Nicholas, lived on. 

“ Once, in the dream, the mother saw her son wear¬ 
ing the robes of a bishop, and later she saw him dressed 
in a lovely costume made out of red and white velvet. 
On his back he carried a big sack and he seemed to be 
climbing down one of the chimneys of an old house. 

“ Again ages passed away in the dream, and now 
the merchant’s wife saw her son living in a little log hut 
built high up in the mountains. With him he had a 
Clown for a friend, and these two spent their days to¬ 
gether making toys for the children of the world. 

-ii- 


“ As soon as she woke up in the morning the mer¬ 
chant’s wife told her husband about the strange dream 
she had had, and they wondered, with hope in their 
hearts, if it would come true. The merchant was a 
little bit worried about the climbing-down-the-chim- 
ney part of the dream. 

“ * I do hope,’ he said to her, ‘ that our son, Nicho¬ 
las, when he arrives, will not grow up to be a burglar 
— breaking into people’s houses like that.’ But his 
wife was sure that Nicholas would do nothing of the 
sort; perhaps, she said, he was just mending the chim¬ 
ney. 

“ During the whole of that day,” the old chimney 
continued, “ the merchant’s wife thought about her 
strange dream. When she was making a pudding for 
dinner the eggs seemed to change suddenly into tiny 
fat men dressed in red and white, and when she went 
into the yard to feed the pigs they, too, looked just like 
the little baby she had dreamed about. 

“ ‘ Well! I’m sure he didn’t look like a pig in 
the dream,’ she muttered to herself as she came indoors. 

“ By supper time, however, she had forgotten all 
about the eggs and the pigs, and as soon as the meal 
was over she took a card out of the window. On this 
card was printed in large letters 


mm eggs m sale 


- 12 - 



“ You see,” said the old chimney, “ these good 
people, the merchant and his wife, kept a farm house 
and sold eggs and butter and honey.” 

“ And chickens,” said one of the other chimneys. 
“ And pigs,” murmured another. 



“And SOMETIMES pigs,’’ corrected the 
chimney who was telling the story, and he gave a cross 
look at the chimneys who had interrupted. Then he 
cleared his throat loudly and went on: 

“ In place of the card which the merchant’s wife 
had taken out of the window she started to make an¬ 
other one, and what,” he asked, turning his cowl to¬ 
wards the little chimney — “ what do you think were 
the words she wrote on it? ” 

When I heard the old chimney ask this question I 
wished I had Gisela with me on the ladder, because she 
is so clever at guessing riddles. Eagerly I waited to see 
if the little chimney could solve the problem; but he 
merely turned his cowl round and round — his way, I 
suppose, of shaking his head to show he could not guess. 

Just as I was about to shout out what I thought the 
merchant’s wife had written on the new card, the old 

-13- 


chimney went on with his tale. It was a good thing he 
did, or perhaps this story might never have been 
written. 

“ Can’t you guess? ” asked the old chimney. But 
again the tiny chimney twirled his cowl round and 
round to show he could not answer. 

“ She wrote ‘BABY WANTED’ of course,” 
said the old chimney. 

“ And as the merchant’s wife prepared this new 
card she sang softly to herself about the baby she longed 
to become the mother of.” 

“ Can you sing the song for me? ” asked the new 
little chimney. 

“ Yes,” replied the old chimney, “ we can, because 
the melody of the song floated up the chimney of the 
house in which the merchant and his wife lived, and 
was recorded by our ancestors, and so we know just 
what kind of baby the merchant’s wife wished to have. 

“ Attention, everybody! ” he said in a loud voice, 
and then he called the various chimneys on the old 
house to order, one after another, thus — 

“ With-drawing Room, 

“ Great Hall, 

“ Library, 

“ Kitchen, 

“ Buttery, 

“ Bedrooms, 

“ Nursery.” 

Then the old chimneys, who seemed to know by 
heart all the songs relating to Santa Claus, and who evi- 
-14- 


dently enjoyed singing them, just as you children, who 
are reading this story, love to sing Christmas carols, 
burst into the following song: 

Wanted a babe with wee pink hands! 

Hands that shall gather the golden flowers, 

In sunny fields, in sunny hours, 

WANTED A BABE! 

Wanted a babe with ten pink toes, 

Little feet that shall climb life’s highest steep, 

And ne’er despair in the deepest deep, 

WANTED A BABE! 

Wanted a babe with red, red lips — 

Lips to kiss — more precious than gold, 

A babe for these loving arms to hold, 

WANTED A BABE! 

Wanted a babe! Please, fairies, send 
The babe of my dream — the children’s friend, 

From now, forever, and ever and aye, 

Their Santa Claus on Christmas Day, 

WANTED A BABE! 

“ As soon as the merchant’s wife had finished sing¬ 
ing this song,” said the old chimney, “ she hung the new 
card she had made in the window. 

“ That night, while everyone was fast asleep, the 
fairies happened to pass by the merchant’s house. 
They were on their way to some fairy revels beneath a 
big oak tree that grew in the woods near by. 

“ The fairies, however, were in such a hurry that 
they trooped by the window without seeing the card — 

-is- 








all but one little fairy, who was lame and walked on 
crutches. As a babe she had fallen out of her butter¬ 
cup cradle, and although she was rushed to the hospital, 
where the best doctors in fairyland attended her, noth¬ 
ing could be done to save her from being a cripple and 
having to use crutches made of bluebell stalks. 



“ Being lame,” the old chimney went on, “ this lit¬ 
tle fairy could not travel as fast as the other fairies. So 
it came about that as she passed the merchant’s house, 
saying to herself over and over again, ‘ I may be lame 
... I may be lame . . . but still I’m a fairy,’ she saw 
the sign hanging in the window. Thinking to herself 
that it might be one of those nasty NOTICES which 
tell you not to TRESPASS, or to KEEP OFF 
THE GRASS, and which she made it a rule always 
to disobey, the little lame fairy stopped just outside the 
window. 


-17- 


“ But the moment she read the card and saw what 
was wanted, she realized how very important the mat¬ 
ter was; for she herself had caused the merchant’s wife 
to dream about the little boy who was to live forever. 
Hurrying as fast as her crutches would let her, she made 
off, hobble-de-hop, hobble-de-hop, to let the queen of 
the fairies know about it. Through the town she went, 
and into the forest, straight to the oak tree round 
which the fairies were holding their revels. There she 



told her story. At once the fairies sat down in a ring 
upon toadstools and held a council to decide whether 
or not the merchant and his wife could be trusted with 
a fairy babe. 

“ You see,” continued the old chimney, “ the 
fairies know all about human children, and how at times 
they are not as happy as they should be. They even 
have a song about the matter, which they sometimes 
-18- 





sing at night when the human children are asleep. We 
chimneys have often heard them singing it and so we 
know the words. Would you like us to sing it for you? ” 
he asked, turning toward the little chimney. 

“ Oh, please do,” answered the new chimney. “ I 
very much want to hear it, because I am the chimney of 
the new nursery that has just been built. Two little 
children are going to sleep and play there, and if their 
nurse is not kind to them I shall let one of my bricks fall 
on her head some day when she is making up my fire.” 

The other chimneys beamed approvingly on their 
new little brother, and then they burst into this song 
which no doubt they had often heard the fairies sing: 

These poor human children, 

Their lot is so sad! 

If they do THIS or THAT 
They are punished as bad; 

When out in the sunshine 
They’re hustled indoors; 

They must sit at a table. 

And not crawl on floors. 

Oh! They mustn’t do T HIS! 

And they mustn’t do THAT! 

It’s always the wrong thing, 

Whatever they’re at. 

When meadows are calling, 

In schools they are chained! 

Oh, what does it matter 
When King William reigned, 

Or if he reigned ten years, 

-19- 


Or fifty years long, 

When the wind in the willows 
Is singing its song? 

A trumpet is given 
As one of their toys! 

To blow it’s forbidden, 

Because of the noise; 

Their faces are soaped 
Till their eyes smart and hurt, 

In this tomfool’ry habit 
Of chasing the dirt. 

Nice pockets are made 
In their Sunday turn-out, 

But promptly they’re told, 

They must KEEP THEIR HANDS OUT 
If they point at some object 
Their quick eyes have seen, 

They’re told it is rude, 

And not done by the Queen. 

It’s — “ Be seen and not heard,” 

When they’re eager to talk, 

If their legs bid them run, 

Then their parents say, “WALK”; 

If they think of some frolic 
To paint the town red, 

They’re smacked on their — S S H! S S H! 

And packed off to bed. 

Oh! They mustn’t do T HIS! 

And they mustn’t do T H A T! 

It’s always the wrong thing, 

Whatever they’re at. 


-20- 


id the fairies let the 
merchant and his wife have a little baby? ” asked the 
little chimney as soon as the song was ended. 

“ Yes,” answered the old chimney, “ the Fairy 
Queen decided they should be allowed to have one, and 
the little lame fairy made the queen promise that the 
babe should be the little boy Nicholas about whom she 
had made the merchant’s wife dream. 

“ Very soon after this Nicholas was born, and as 
he weighed just one pound more than any other baby of 
his age in Patara you may be sure his parents were very 
proud of him.” 

“ But why? Because he was one pound heavier? ” 
asked the little chimney. 

“ Well, my dear,” said an old lady chimney, “ it’s 
like this. These human mothers are very funny people. 
No matter what they do they are always very jealous of 
one another, and so whenever they are going to have 
babies they always hold a competition among them¬ 
selves to see who can become the mother of the heaviest 
baby. So, because they are full of mischief, the fairies 
made little Nicholas the heaviest baby.” 



-21- 


“ Oh, I see,” said the little chimney, and nodded 
brightly. Then the old twisted chimney took up the 
story again. 

“ One night,” he said, “ when Claus — for that 
was the pet name his father gave him — was being given 
his bath, the little lame fairy appeared before the 
mother and said, ‘ You may have just one wish for your 
little son and whatsoever you ask for him I will grant.’ 

“ All sorts of wonderful requests entered the moth¬ 
er’s head, but remembering her dream she said, 

PLEASE GRANT THAT HE MAY 
LIVE FOREVER 

“ As she spoke these words she stooped to kiss lit¬ 
tle Claus, and when she looked up she was alone with 
her babe, and she wondered whether the fairy had 
really been there. 

“ Little Claus kept on growing, and soon he began 
to walk and talk and take notice of the world. Nothing 
very special happened during his boyhood. He played 
marbles, he spun tops, he broke windows with his ball, 
he played truant from school, he stole apples whenever 
he got the chance, he caught fish which he afterwards 
described to his playmates as having been ten times the 
size they really were, he spent his pocket money on tof¬ 
fee instead of putting it in the missionary box, as one 
of his aunts advised him to do; in fact he did everything 
that a fine happy laughing boy generally does.” 

Again the old chimney paused to clear his throat, 
and then went on in his sooty voice: 

- 22 - 


“ When Claus became a man his parents gave 
him all their wealth, but Claus said: ‘ If I keep all this 
money for myself others will not have enough. More¬ 
over, it will mean that I shall have to stay in Patara all 
my life in order to take care of it. And if I stay in 
Patara I shall not have adventures nor see anything of 
the wonderful world.’ 

“ So Nicholas gave away his riches to the poor aria, 
taking with him only a harp and a staff, he set out to 
explore the wide, wide world. 

“ Many, who thought they were wiser than Claus, 
said, ‘ How foolish he is to give away all his money! 
Some day he will be in want himself, and then he will be 
sorry.’ But Nicholas knew better and answered, ‘ If 
we do not give, we are not worthy to receive.’ 

“ So Claus set out on his travels and saw many 
wonderful things. He saw the mighty mountains and 
the great rivers, and the little hills and the tiny babbling 
brooks. He saw the vast forests and the beautiful wild 
flowers. Often he would stop to listen to the songs the 
birds sang, or to watch the merry rabbits scurrying to 
their burrows. He loved the gentle deer and other ani¬ 
mals, and when he played upon his harp they would 
gather round and stand with pensive heads to listen. 

“ When he was hungry, Claus went to the villages 
and played music on his harp for the children to dance 
to, and the parents, pleased to see their little ones 
happy, gave him food and raiment. 

“ Claus was always happy, always laughing,” said 
the old chimney. “ It used to make him laugh to watch 

-23- 




the silly people with tired bent backs planting and tend¬ 
ing many times more corn than they would ever need, in 
order to sell it in the market place and thus become rich. 
He laughed at their stupidity but it also made Claus 
sad, for he saw that the people had become so fond of 
money that sometimes they would even sell corn which 
tty did need for themselves and their children. 

“ Claus could not understand this foolishness, for 
to him it seemed that everything in life that is worth¬ 
while and that makes us happy does not cost anything 
— the mountains and woods, the silver winding rivers, 
the song of the bird, the scent of the wild flower, the blue 
of the sky, and the white, white cloud ever drifting on 
its way to adventure. Even the harp on which Claus 
played such beautiful music he had made himself. 

“ No, he could not understand why the foolish peo¬ 
ple spent so many hours toiling so hard merely to obtain 
wealth — wealth which so seldom brought them happi¬ 
ness. 

“ One morning Nicholas arrived at the city of 
Myra. Now the bishop of Myra, a very old man, had 
just died and the people had had strange dreams. In 
their dreams mysterious voices told them they must se¬ 
lect for their new bishop the first man of the name of 
Nicholas who entered their cathedral. 

“ On the following day, therefore, everyone who 
entered the church was asked his name. But when the 
priests saw a shabbily dressed man with nothing but a 
harp and a staff come into the church they did not ask 
-24- 


him his name. They did not want a poor man for their 
new bishop. 

“ After Nicholas had offered up a prayer at the al¬ 
tar he came out of the cathedral and, undoing his harp, 
he began to play sweet music so that the children who 
had gathered round might dance. He played for some 
time, and the little ones stepped merrily to the music, 
and soon the grownups too came to listen, and even the 
priests came out of the church. 

“ When Claus thought the children must be tired 
he stopped playing and set his harp on the ground. But 
the music did not cease, for the winds passing through 
the strings still made lovely sweeping chords. 

“ And as the people and the priest listened, the 
harp seemed to be saying over and over again, 

ST. NICHOLAS! ST. NICHOLAS! 

ST. NICHOLAS! 

“ At first everyone was astonished. What could 
this mean? Soon, however, the people remembered 
their dreams and suddenly they knew that this poor 
man, who was so shabbily dressed and who owned noth¬ 
ing in the world but his harp and his staff, was to be 
their bishop; for when they asked him his name he told 
them it was Nicholas and that he was the son of Epi- 
phanius of Patara.” 

At this point in his story the old chimney paused to 
let out some smoke. The breath of the chimneys is 
called “ smoke.” When we are talking we sometimes 

-25- 


pause to take breath IN, but the chimneys on old 
houses like to be different — perhaps that is why they 
always look so interesting — and so they pause to let 
breath OUT. 

“ As soon as Nicholas had told the people of Myra 
his name,” the old chimney resumed, “ there was great 
rejoicing and ringing of bells. Then the priests took 
him into the church and held a special service to make 
him bishop of Myra. Then Nicholas put on the gor¬ 
geous robes and mitre, and prayed that he might be a 
good bishop. 

“ He was a good bishop, so good and so gentle that 
everyone loved him and said he was the best bishop they 
had ever had. 

“ Whenever the priests or the grown-up people 
spoke to him they always called him ‘ Bishop Nicholas,’ 
but he liked the children to call him ‘ Claus,’ because, 
as he said, it sounded so much more friendly.” 


-26- 


fter many years, Claus 
became tired of being a bishop. He longed to journey 
once more from village to village amusing the children 
and playing music on his harp for them to dance to. So 
he bade good-by to the people of Myra and, taking his 
harp and his staff, he wandered into the world again. 

“ He passed from place to place and wherever he 
came he brought joy to the children. But at last a time 
came when Nicholas wanted to rest, for he was growing 
old. So he built himself a little log hut high up in the 
mountains whence he could look down on the beautiful 
world, and he made a little garden and shelters for his 
pets. 

“ Every morning Claus tended his little garden, 
but he never planted more corn or more vegetables than 
he was likely to need for himself, his reindeer and his 
pet goat, and for the birds whom he called his ‘ brother 
musicians.’ Of course Claus kept a pet goat, and he 
also had a fine sleigh and some reindeer. 

“ The sleigh he himself had made. When he was 
a boy, although they were ever so rich, his parents had 
had him taught the art of carpentry, and now there was 
-27- 


no one in that part of the world who could use tools with 
greater skill than Claus. 

“ After he had finished building his hut and had 
made for himself chairs and tables and useful cup¬ 
boards, Nicholas did not know what to do with all his 



spare time. So being a wise man he talked the matter 
over with his pet goat and with his reindeer. 

“ To the questions he put to them the reindeer just 
nodded their pretty heads and set all their merry bells 
to ringing; and the goat made a funny sound that re¬ 
minded Claus of a toy goat he had played with when he 
was a little boy. The reindeer’s bells too caused Nicho¬ 
las to think of toys. And so he realized at once that the 
goat and the reindeer had given him an answer to his 
-28- 












questions and told him what to do with his many spare 
hours — 

HE WOULD MAKE TOYS FOR THE 
CHILDREN 

“ The very next day Claus drove in his sleigh to 
the city where he bought a carpenter’s bench and many 
tools, and from then on every day throughout the year 
he was busy with his hammer and his chisel and keen¬ 
cutting knives, making the most heavenly toys any 
child could think of. 

“ Soon every cupboard was full and every drawer 
was full and every chair was full. Toys of all sorts were 
even hanging on the hooks in the ceiling among the 
hams and bundles of dried vegetables. In fact, toys 
were just everywhere! Quite frequently Claus found 
himself taking down a bundle of rubber balls and put¬ 
ting them into the soup he was making, instead of 
onions. 

“ But in spite of this,” continued the chimney, 
“ when Claus thought of the many little girls and boys 
who were living in the big city he knew that by himself 
he would never be able to make enough toys for them 
all. So what do you think he did? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said the little chimney. “ What 
did he do? ” 

“ Well,” replied the old chimney, “ although it has 
always been kept a great secret I will tell you. Even 
the children don’t know about it, but as no one can pos¬ 
sibly hear us it will be all right to let you know.” 

-29- 





-30- 












I smiled to myself and carefully moved a little 
closer, for, whatever the secret was, Gisela would soon 
know all about it, and possibly lots and lots of other 
children. 

“ Ever since he was a little boy,” the chimney then 
whispered, “ Claus had had a very celebrated Clown for 
a friend. In fact they had been to school together. 
And later the Clown often accompanied Claus on his 
wanderings and helped him to amuse the children. In 
his younger days the Clown kept an open-air school and 
his pupils were little clowns and little columbines. 

“ Now the Clown never taught his pupils anything 
about William the Conqueror, nor when nor why he had 
reigned over England. The Clown didn’t know himself 
and he didn’t even care. Oh, dear me, no, he didn’t 
teach his pupils uninteresting things like that, neither 
did he teach them arithmetic or geography. He taught 
them much more attractive things. He taught them 
how to tumble and how to do cartwheels, and how to 
dance and how to laugh and how to sing and all sorts of 
other nice things. And he always made up the words of 
the songs he taught his pupils.” 

Just at that moment an old church clock near by 
slowly chimed the hour of three. 

BOOM! 

BOOM! 

BOOM! 

The old chimney paused to listen and count the 
- 31 - 


hours as they slowly struck. Then he said: “ That re¬ 
minds me! One of the songs the Clown taught his pu¬ 
pils was about a clock, because he said that clocks didn’t 
really know anything about time.” 

“ But surely,” said the little chimney, “ if anyone 
ought to know about time it is a clock.” 

“ That may be,” replied the old chimney, “ but as 
you grow up and become twisted you will often find that 
the people who O U G H T to know things are generally 
the very ones who know least about them. 

“ Now the Clown called this particular song 
about which I am telling you, ‘A VERY NICE 
CLOCK.’” 

“ Why did he call it that? ” inquired the little 
chimney. ‘‘ I should have thought that every clock was 
nice.” 

“ Oh, dear me, no! ” the old chimney answered. 
“Clocks that tell children it is BED-TIME, or 
SCHOOL-TIME, are not at all nice clocks.” 

“ Neither are those that tell children it is time to 
get up when they are cozy in bed on a cold winter morn¬ 
ing,” muttered one of the other chimneys. 

“ Unless it is a Christmas or a birthday morning,” 
chimed in another. 

“ It’s a long time,” said the old chimney, turning 
to the other chimneys, “ since we sang the Clown’s 
clock song, so let us sing it tonight. Our new brother 
ought to hear it because it is about children and as he 
is the chimney of the new nursery it will be his duty to 
aid in making them happy.” 

- 32 - 


“ And there is nothing like one of our nice open 
fires for doing that,” said one of the other chimneys. 

“ We help to keep their little hearts warm, don’t 
we? ” added another. 

“ And their little feet — and their little feet,” said 
the old one who was telling the story. “ No,” he added, 
“ there’s nothing like a good blazing log fire for making 
people happy and contented.” 

Then once again these quaint chimneys who lived 
so happily on the roof of this old Elizabethan house 
burst into song. How I wished Gisela could have been 
with me! Here are the words of the song they sang. 

A VERY NICE CLOCK 

This is the way a clock should go, 

When we’re in school all set in a row, 

At nasty lessons made to stick, 

A VERY NICE CLOCK would tick-tock quick: 

Ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktocktick. 

But lessons over and school let out, 

To play at Cricket or Round-About, 

Or when for “ IT ” one has been cast 
A VERY NICE CLOCK would not tick fast: 

Tick.tock.tick.tock. 

When we are feeling empty here, 

Which means a mealtime should be near, 

A VERY NICE CLOCK would think of us, 

And the rate of its tick-tock would be thus: 


Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick. 

- 33 “ 





On Birth- and Christmas-days alike 
A VERY NICE CLOCK would seldom strike, 
Bedtime, of course, would come round never, 

And holiday days would last forever, 

The space between each tick and tock 

Would be about this on A VERY NICE CLOCK: 

Tick.Tock 

Tick.Tock 

Tick.Tock 

TICK . . . 

STOP. 

“ That is a nice song,” said the little chimney as 
soon as the last echoes had died away. 

“ I’m so glad you like it,” the old chimney replied. 
“ But we are forgetting about Santa Claus and the toys 
and we mustn’t do that. 

“ Well, finding he would not be able to make 
enough toys for all the children without help, Claus de¬ 
cided to ask his friend, the Clown, to come and live with 
him and assist. 

“ So the Clown, who was delighted with the invita¬ 
tion, went to live with Nicholas in the little log hut and 
he turned out to be a very good toymaker. He was so 
clever, in fact, that he invented many new kinds of toys, 
including the famous Jack-in-the-Box and the Wibbly- 
Wobbly Clown. Many of the toys he made have been 
brought into this very house by Santa Claus.” 

“ And I hope many more will be brought here,” 
said the little chimney. “ I’m sure I’m going to like 
this Santa Claus very much.” 

- 34 - 





“ At first,” the old chimney continued, “ the Clown 
gave Claus a lot of trouble, for as soon as he had finished 
making a toy he would spend the rest of the day playing 
with it. When Nicholas laughingly scolded him about 
the waste of time the Clown would reply, ‘ Oh, I was 
just TESTING it, old chap, just TESTING it.’ 

“ Of course Nicholas and the Clown also made 
candies for the children! The candy maker was gen¬ 
erally the Clown — that is why stick candy is striped 
— but when the candy was made the Clown ate so much 
of it himself that Claus had to remind him it was for the 
children. This time the Clown would answer, ‘ Oh, I 
was just TASTING it, old chap, just TASTING 
it.’ 

“ The two friends, nevertheless, got on splendidly 
together, and between them they were able to make 
enough toys for all the children. 

“ Nicholas and the Clown nearly always sang when 
they were at work. Once when they were making a 
beautiful Rocking Horse they sang this song: 

THE MAGIC ROCKING HORSE 
Hammer! Hammer! Hammer! 

The nails must go in straight, 

This Rocking Horse has got to bear 
A future hero’s weight! 

Oh, Hammer! Hammer! Hammer! 

Just three feet high it stands, 

And the child who rides upon its back 
Will journey to strange lands. 

- 35 " 


Hammer! Hammer! Hammer! 

We must make it very strong, 

For the road to magic Bagdad 
Is very far and long; 

But once upon this magic horse 
How fast the miles will fly, 

To Coral Isles and Fairylands, 

While one, two, three, you cry. 

Hammer! Hammer! Hammer! 

You but whisper in his ear, 

One weeny word of magic, 

That he will quickly hear; 

Or when you know the secret, 

You touch a magic spring, 

Then over dale and mountain, 

Upon your way you wing. 

How sad to be a grownup, 

To whom a chair’s a chair, 

With all imagination lost 
That leads to joy from care. 

But even chairs, for children, 

Will change to fiery steeds, 

And common clothes and common hats, 
To shining Cap-a-pieds. 

For all the cares and troubles 
That leaden life’s blue skies 
Are but the weeds that gather, 

When imagination dies. 

-36- 


So, if you would be happy, 

As through life you wend your course, 
Never, never be without 
A magic Rocking Horse. 



- 37 “ 



* or a few moments after 
the chimneys had sung this song there was silence. 
Then the little chimney said, “ Oh, do please go on with 
the tale about Santa Claus. Perhaps some day, if I’m a 
good little chimney and don’t smoke too much, Santa 
Claus will climb down me.” 

At that all the chimneys turned their cowls toward 
their new little brother as though to express their ap¬ 
proval. Then the old chimney took up the story of 
Father Christmas once more. 

“ Now you must understand,” he said, “ that 
Claus and the Clown lived so far away from the city 
that only once a year could they take the toys they had 
made to the children. And the one day of the year they 
selected was Christmas Eve. 

“ So, early in the morning of the day before Christ¬ 
mas, they loaded the sleigh — Claus had found it nec¬ 
essary to make a much bigger one for the occasion; then 
they harnessed the reindeer, said good-by to their 
pet goat, and with many a ‘ H O O P ’ and with many a 
‘ LA ’ set off upon their long journey. 

“ Now you must know that during all the years 
Claus had been bishop of Myra, the ladies of that city 
-38- 


— especially the unmarried ladies — so loved him that 
they were always giving him presents. Whenever the 
bell rang at the bishop’s palace it was generally someone 
with a gift for Nicholas. Sometimes it was a jar of cur¬ 
rant jelly, or a kitten, or cookies, or things like that. 
As he was a bishop, of course they never gave him 
Devil’s Food Cake, but Angel Food Cake they sent him 
so often that he grew quite tired of it. So tired, indeed, 
that he would take plain bread and butter for his after¬ 
noon tea and give the Angel Food Cake to the kittens. 

“ But oftenest of all the presents were stockings. 
Many of the unmarried ladies were very fond of knit¬ 
ting stockings for their bishop and before long Nicholas 
had hundreds and hundreds of pairs of stockings. 

“ And the chimneys who lived on the houses of 
Myra at that time, and whose smoke blew the news 
about the world, repeated also the song that many of 
the ladies sang while they were knitting.” 

Hearing the old chimney say this and remember¬ 
ing that today so few people sing while at work made me 
wonder what the reason could be. Perhaps when we 
find we cannot sing it is a sign that we are not doing the 
right kind of work. 

When I was a little boy I was often told, especially 
by my teacher, that I should try to emulate the bees. 
Of course I didn’t know, any more than you do, what 
the word “ emulate ” meant, until I was told. Then I 
found out that I ought to take the bees as a pattern for 
my life and copy their habits. To have been able to 
make one’s own honey for tea would certainly have 
- 39 - 


been jolly, and it would also have been rather nice to 
be able to sting people, especially the teachers who 
wanted me to act like a bee. Now that I am grown up, 
however, I know that what was really meant was that 
I should always be busy — just like the busy bee. 



Now I have never told Gisela that she ought to 
emulate the bees, because I think they are rather silly 
insects. They spend their lives storing up more honey 
than they can ever eat, just for other people to steal. 
They are a good deal like the people who planted more 
com than they would need in order to become rich. 
Long before I met the dear old chimneys, however, I 
-40- 


had told Gisela that a teakettle would be a very good 
thing for her to imitate. A kettle, you see, always sings 
at its work — a sure sign that it is happy and contented. 

It did not, of course, take me as long to think this 
as it has taken to write it, and by the time the thought 
had flashed through my mind I found the old chimney 
had again resumed his tale. 

“ The songs the old ladies sang while knitting,” he 
said, “ were very funny. They used to make the chim¬ 
neys of those days laugh until their sides cracked. We 
still laugh when we think about them and that is why 
you see so many cracked chimneys.” 

“ Oh, I would like to hear one of their songs,” said 
the little chimney. 

“ And so you shall,” answered the big one. “ But 
we can’t, of course, look as funny as the old ladies did. 
Chimneys don’t have long curls and we don’t wear 
funny bonnets with feathers in them.” 

Then, nodding to the other chimneys to get ready, 
he said, “ This is one of their funny songs just as it has 
been handed UP to us.” 

Standing on the ladder I could not help wondering 
at the different way the chimneys had of expressing 
themselves, compared to our way. We always talk 
about legends and songs coming D O W N to us, whereas 
the chimneys spoke of them as having come UP to them. 
At this moment, however, my thoughts were inter¬ 
rupted by the chimneys’ singing. They took turns at 
pretending to be one of the funny ladies and each sang 
-41- 


at a great speed, so I must remember to tell Gisela she 
must read this song very fast. This is how it went: 

The Four Old Maids 

We are knitting, knitting, knitting, 

We are always at our knitting, 

Knitting red and yellow stockings 
For our bishop by the score; 

We keep knitting, knitting, knitting, 

Both when standing up and sitting, 

When we’re knitting for a bishop 
We’ve no time to help the poor. 

First Old Maid 

I’ve no time for roasting capons, 

Nor for darning frocks and aprons, 

This knitting, knitting, knitting 
Keeps me fully occupied! 

I’ve no time for washing dishes, 

Nor for frying chops and fishes, 

For a bishop’s legs with stockings 
Must be fully kept supplied. 

Second Old Maid 

I’ve no time for household dusting, 

Nor to clean a grate that’s rusting, 

I’ve no time to beat a carpet, 

Or for polishing the floors. 

I’ve no time to do the sweeping, 

Or to comfort children weeping, 

For I’m always at my knitting 
Making gifts for Bishop Claus. 

-42- 


Third Old Maid 

I am always knitting, knitting, 

Both when standing up and sitting; 

To be knitting for a bishop 
Is a very pleasant treat; 

When consuming chops and kippers 
I keep knitting socks and slippers 
And red and yellow stockings 
For episcopalian feet. 

Fourth Old Maid 

Wasting time on household crockery 
Would surely be a mockery, 

When every lady in the land 
Is knitting bishop’s hose; 

And to scratch a spot that itches 
Might mean dropping fifty stitches 
So I’m forced to let mosquitoes dine 
In peace upon my nose. 

The Four Old Maids 

Oh, we can’t indulge in headaches, 

We’ve no time for colly-wobbles, 

We simply love sciatica 
And glory in the tic; 

But we’re much too busy knitting, 

Making stockings for dear Nicholas, 

And as we stand and as we sit 
Our needles click, click, click. 

The song ended and for a while the chimneys sat 
silently smoking, all except the new little chimney, who 
muttered, “ Oh, do go on with the story of Santa Claus, 
please.” 


- 43 “ 




“ It’s getting very early,” said the old chimney, 
“ and it’s quite time for little chimneys to appear to the 
world to be nothing else . . . but little chimneys, so 
perhaps I had better finish telling you the tale tomorrow 
night.” 

But the little chimney begged, as it was his first 
birthday, that he might be allowed to stay up a little 
longer and hear some more about Father Christmas and 
the Clown. 

“ Well,” replied the old chimney, “ perhaps, as it 
is your first birthday party, you may.” 

Once again I marveled at the wisdom of the chim¬ 
neys. Here they were calling the day on which the little 
chimney had been born his “ first ” birthday, whereas 
we always speak of a child’s second birthday as his 
FIRST. That will make Gisela and every child a year 
older than they think they are, I said to myself. 

Then the old chimney went on with his tale. 

“ When Nicholas gave up being a bishop,” he said, 
“ he took all the hundreds of pairs of stockings the 
ladies of Myra had knitted for him to his new home in 
the mountains. Here he carefully packed them away 
in drawers and cupboards, thinking as he did so, as 
well he might, that it would be a long time before he 
would need to buy new ones. But as things turned out, 
as you shall presently hear, he was quite wrong. Claus 
needed more stockings very soon. 

“Fora long time Nicholas and the Clown had been 
greatly worried because they had nothing in which to 
- 44 - 


pack all the little toys so that they would not fall out of 
the sleigh and become lost. In those days there were, of 
course, no such things as paper bags and string. They 
were almost giving up in despair when one morning, 
while they were at breakfast, the Clown had a brilliant 
idea. 

“ * Let’s go and ask the goat to tell us how to pack 
the small toys,’ he said. 

“ Nicholas had told him long ago how the toymak¬ 
ing had come about through the wisdom of the goat and 
the reindeer. 

“ ‘ Why! Of course! ’ Claus replied. ‘ That’s a 
splendid idea. Why didn’t we think of it before ? ’ 

“ So they jumped up from the breakfast table, the 
Clown upsetting the dish of sausages in his hurry, and 
went outside to find the goat, and what do you think 
they found him doing? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said the little chimney. “ Eating 
grass perhaps.” 

“ No,” said the old chimney, “ they found him 
eating, certainly — but not grass. They found him 
calmly eating one of Nicholas’ stockings which with 
other washing was hanging in the sun to dry.” 

“ It must have been a Monday,” sighed one of the 
lady chimneys. 

“ And Monday is always washing day,” added an¬ 
other, who evidently resided over the wash-house. 

“ When the Clown saw what the goat was doing,” 
continued the old chimney, “ he was very angry, but 
- 45 - 


Claus was not in the least bit cross. He knew it was just 
as natural for a goat to nibble at a stocking as it is for a 
puppy dog to bite up a shoe. 



“ ‘ Don’t you see what it means? ’ he said to the 
Clown. 

“ ‘ Of course I do,’ the Clown answered. ‘ It 
means that he has spoilt — U-T-T-E-R-L-Y 
SPOILT — a perfectly good pair of stockings.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, bother the spoiling! ’ Claus answered. ‘ It 
means something much more important than that.’ 

“ ‘ Well, what does it mean? ’ asked the Clown, 
looking very puzzled. 

“ ‘ Oh, can’t you see? ’ said Nicholas. ‘ The stock¬ 
ings, you silly, the S T O C KIN G S. We came to ask 
the goat to tell us how to pack the little toys and he has 
made us think of stockings.’ 

“ ‘ Stockings? ’ queried the Clown, more puzzled 
than ever. 


-46- 





“ ‘ Yes! Stockings,’ Claus replied; ‘ all those hun¬ 
dreds of pairs of stockings the ladies of Myra knitted 
for me will be just the very things into which to pack the 
small toys.’ 

“ At last the Clown understood! In his joy he 
turned three cartwheels and then went and fairly 
hugged the goat, who immediately butted him . . . 
well, I won’t say where, but he caused the Clown to turn 
another somersault and Nicholas to laugh. The Clown 
somersaulted right into the hut and soon came out again 
with his arms full of stockings. Into these the two 
friends packed a nice assortment of toys and candy for 
each child. 

“ The stockings were so handy,” continued the old 
chimney, “ and it was so late when Nicholas and the 
Clown left them at the homes of the children, and the 
parents were so tired, that they did not bother to take 
the toys out. Instead they hung the stockings at the 
foot of each child’s bed just as they were. 

“ When the children awoke on Christmas morning 
they looked and looked and looked with half-open won¬ 
dering eyes, for they could not make out at first what it 
was hanging on the railings of their little beds. It 
looked just like a pair of stockings with legs inside them. 
Some of the children thought that when they were un¬ 
dressing the night before they had by mistake taken off 
their legs as well as their stockings, so they hastily be¬ 
gan to feel under the bedclothes to see if their legs were 
there. And when they found their legs in the right 
place, they thought they had better find out what these 
- 47 - 


things hanging to their beds were. And soon there was 
a wild shout of joy all over the city as the unpacking of 
the stockings began. 

“ From that day to this, one of the happiest and 
most exciting moments in a child’s life is when he or she 
awakes on Christmas morning to find the presents 
which dear old Santa Claus has left.” 

“ But how did it come about that Santa Claus 
climbs down the chimneys? ” the little chimney in¬ 
quired. 

“ Ah! That is what I am now going to tell you,” 
said the old chimney. “ Well, it was like this. At some 
of the homes, Claus and the Clown found that everyone 
had gone to bed. They did not know what to do. Of 
course they could not knock and make a noise, for that 
would have awakened the children as well as the par¬ 
ents. This would never do, because they wanted the 
toys to come as a big surprise for the little ones on 
Christmas morning. 

“ They tried the windows to see if they could get 
in that way, but all the windows were tightly shut and 
fastened. 

“ Nicholas was in despair, when suddenly one of 
our ancestors, a kindly old red brick chimney who lived 
on the roof of the house, and who had been listening to 
what Claus and the Clown were saying, leaned over the 
edge of the roof and called out in a rather smoky voice, 


MY FIRE’S OUT —WHY DON’T 
YOU CLIMB DOWN ME? 


“ Now this particular chimney,” the old chimney 
said to the young one, “ was your 

great-great-great-great-G RANDFATHER.” 

“ He MUST have been a big chimney,” exclaimed 
the little one. 

The other chimneys laughed and the old chimney 
explained to the little chimney that all these “ greats ” 
merely meant that he had lived a long, long time ago. 

“ In order to make Claus and the Clown hear him,” 
he continued, “ the red brick chimney had been com¬ 
pelled to lean over so far — so very far — that he got 
his back all twisted and could not untwist it again. 
Ever since then, in memory of the noble deed he did for 
children, it has been the custom among chimneys to be¬ 
come twisted and to lean over a little to one side. This 
denotes that one has blue smoke in one’s veins — a sure 
sign of aristocracy. 

“ Well, at last either the Clown or Nicholas heard 

your 

great-great-great-great-G RANDFATHER 

calling to them, and so they climbed onto the roof of 
the house and Nicholas did just what the chimney had 
suggested. He climbed down your 

great-great-great-great-G RANDFATHER 

and so got into the children’s rooms and hung up the 
Christmas stockings.” 

“ Don’t forget to tell him,” said one of the other 
- 49 - 


chimneys, “ that Claus found it such fun climbing 
down the chimney that now, whenever he can, he pre¬ 
fers to get into the children’s bedrooms in this way.” 

“ And also,” said another, “ tell him how exciting 
Christmas is for us, and what fun it is to listen to the 
shouts of glee as the children unpack their stockings.” 

Just at that moment the moon came out from be¬ 
hind the cloud which had been covering it. By its light 
I was able to make some hasty notes for Gisela. For 
hundreds of years, I said to myself, we have been taught 
to believe that it is the walls that have ears, when all the 
time it is the chimneys who have done the listening. 

“ On that first of the Santa Claus Christmas Eves,” 
the old chimney continued, “ Nicholas used up nearly 
all his stockings. So, after Christmas was over, he sent 
a message to the ladies of Myra to tell them that he was 
badly in need of more stockings. 

“ The old ladies were greatly shocked to think that 
Claus had used up his stockings so quickly, and each un¬ 
married lady thought he ought to have a wife to take 
care of him and do his mending. Nevertheless, they at 
once set to work to knit him some more, and by the time 
Christmas came round again Nicholas had enough for 
all the children. 

“Nowadays, there is really no need for Santa 
Claus to use stockings. He continues to do so, however, 
because the children have learned to love having the 
presents brought to them in this way. It is in their 
stockings that they expect to find the gifts sent them by 
-50- 


Santa Claus. Having learned that he can always be re¬ 
lied upon, the children now help him by hanging up 
their own stockings.” 



-si- 











isela will know all about 
the origin of the Christmas stockings at last,” I thought. 
In my excitement I must have spoken my thoughts 
aloud, for immediately all the chimneys on the old 
house turned their cowls in my direction. 

“ Did you speak? ” 

“ Did you speak? ” 

“ Did you speak? ” 

I heard them asking one another. But as not one of the 
chimneys admitted having spoken, they said that it 
must have been the wind they had heard. “ Or per¬ 
haps,” said the little chimney, “ it was the children in 
the nursery below talking in their sleep.” 

The old chimney then went on with his tale: 

“ On their way to the city the reindeer had been 
very good and, with all their merry bells ringing, had 
needed little urging on. Strange to say, however, on 
the homeward journey they began to give Claus, who 
was driving, a lot of trouble, especially one reindeer, 
whom Claus had named Drobrindra. As a rule she 
was the best behaved of all the reindeer, but this time, 
every few minutes, she wanted to turn right around and 
go back to the city where the toys had been left. 

- 53 - 


“ ‘ What’s the matter with you, Drobrindra? ’ 
Claus kept on shouting . . . ‘whoop there! . . . 
STEADY, OLD GIRL.’ But nothing Claus 
said made any difference. Drobrindra was, or seemed 



to be, just naughty. At last, after many difficulties 
they arrived home, but now Drobrindra gave Claus 
and the Clown more trouble than ever. She didn’t 
want to leave the sleigh. As soon as the Clown unhar¬ 
nessed her and led her away she would quickly trot 
back as if asking to be harnessed up again. This went 
on for a long time and was very, very puzzling. 

“ At last Claus looked into the sleigh and found 
the cause of all the trouble and the reason why dear 
old Drobrindra had wanted to turn back. For there 
in the sleigh lay one loaded stocking that had been over¬ 
looked, and some poor child in the far-off city had no 
Christmas presents! 

“ How pleased Drobrindra was now that Nicholas 
understood! How happy she seemed when the Clown 
once more harnessed her with the rest of the reindeer 
to the sleigh! How bravely she made the long journey 
- 54 - 




back to the city again! At what a speed they went! 
How merrily the bells rang out along the snowbound 
road, as Drobrindra, who was the leader, went faster 
and faster so as to be in time! There never was and 
never will be a sleigh ride like that again. At last the 
city was reached . . . the stocking was hung up by a 
little lame girl’s bed just in the nick of time . . . and 
all was well.” 

The old chimney paused to send out some smoke. 
Perched on the ladder, I thought of Gisela and how 
pleased she would be with the wonderful tale I had to 
tell! How she would exclaim with joy at the noble 
conduct of Drobrindra! I even heard the little chim¬ 
ney muttering to himself, “ Bravo, dear old Drobrin¬ 
dra ! ” He was, of course, too young to do much smok¬ 
ing, but had there been a big fire in the grate below I 
am sure he would have sent out enough smoke to have 
created such a fog of joy that it would have covered 
the land around for many miles. 

I was awakened from my reverie by hearing the 
little chimney say, “ Oh, do PLEASE tell me some 
more about Santa Claus.” 

“ You haven’t told him about the Christmas trees 
yet,” remarked one of the other chimneys. 

“ Christmas trees! ” said the little chimney. 
“ What are they? ” 

“ They are little fir trees,” said the old chimney, 
“ and they are covered with pretty fairy lights. On 
these little trees Santa Claus hangs all the presents that 
are too big to go into the stockings.” 

- 55 - 


“ Did the goat think of the Christmas trees? ” 
asked the little chimney. 

“ No,” answered the old one, “ it was the Clown 
who thought of them. The idea, however, came to 
him by accident, but then many important discoveries 
have come about in this way. It happened like this. 
While they were putting the toys into the stockings, 
Nicholas and the Clown kept wondering what they 
should do with the big toys, because, as the Clown 
said, you can’t, no matter how hard you try, put a 
Rocking Horse into a stocking. 

“ They had no difficulty, of course, in carrying the 
big toys on the sleigh. There was no danger of their 
slipping out and being lost on the way, but they wanted 
to give all the toys to the children in some unusual way, 
so that the surprise would be the greater. 

“ Just as they were discussing this problem Nicho¬ 
las ran out of stockings and so he asked the Clown to 
go into the hut and fetch some more. But at the mo¬ 
ment the Clown had his hands full of toys. He there¬ 
fore asked Nicholas to hold them for a moment, while 
he ran into the hut for the stockings. But then, seeing 
that Nicholas was busy, the Clown said, ‘ Oh, never 
mind, old chap, I can hang them on this tree.’ 

“ You see, there were lots of little fir trees growing 
around Nicholas’ hut. So the Clown hung his toys 
on the branches of one of these trees and then ran into 
the hut to fetch more stockings. 

“ When he came out, there was Claus dancing in 
glee around the tree on which the toys hung. 

-56- 


“ ‘ Don’t they look beautiful hanging on the 
tree? ’ said Nicholas. 

“ * Why, so they do! ’ exclaimed the Clown. ‘ By 
JIM I NY, that’s what we’ll do with the big toys. 
We’ll put little trees in all the parlors and on them we’ll 
hang the big toys. And the very big ones, like the 
Rocking Horses and Doll Buggies, we’ll stand on the 
floor all around the trees.’ 

“ * Splendid! ’ said Nicholas. ‘ The very thing! ’ 

“ ‘ Isn’t it wonderful,’ said the Clown, ‘ providing 
one doesn’t worry and fuss and fret and fume, how all 
the difficulties in life seem to melt away! ’ 

“ ‘ I do wish we could see a tree all covered with 
toys,’ he added, ‘ but we have no time to decorate one.’ 

“‘Nevertheless,’ said Nicholas, ‘we CAN see 

one.’ 

“ ‘ How? ’ asked the Clown. 

“ ‘ With our magic spectacles, of course,’ said 
Claus.” 

“ Magic spectacles! ” said the little chimney. 
“ Why, what are they? ” 

“ They are a special kind of spectacles,” said the 
old chimney, “ which Nicholas had invented to enable 
him to look into the future. He generally used them 
to watch the children playing with the toys, in order to 
make sure that he was making the right kind of toys. 
But now, as Claus said, they could put on the spectacles 
and look into the future and wish to see one of the trees 
— Christmas trees they were to be called — covered 
with toys. 


-57- 



- 58 - 















“ So Claus went into the hut and fetched the magic 
spectacles — a pair for himself and a pair for the 
Clown. When they put them on, after expressing a 
wish for the thing they wanted to look at, they saw a 
tree loaded with toys, and a group of children were 
standing gazing at it in wonder. 

“ At first, by mistake, the Clown put the spectacles 
upside-down on his nose, and so he saw all the children 
standing on their heads, and the tree, of course, was also 
upside-down. The only way the Clown thought he 
could correct this mistake was to stand on his own head, 
which he at once proceeded to do, until Claus told him 
that it would be much easier if he stood on his feet and 
put his spectacles on properly. 

“ The tree certainly must have looked nice but 
there were no pretty lights on it — Nicholas and the 
Clown had not thought of them. But to their astonish¬ 
ment, as they stood admiring it, a group of fairies sud¬ 
denly appeared dancing and singing around the tree. 
In her hand each fairy held a little lighted lamp. Pres¬ 
ently, as they danced, the fairies began to hang their 
lamps on the toy-laden branches of the tree until it be¬ 
came one blaze of different colored lights. 

“ As the fairies danced and hung up their lamps 
they sang this little song: 

Red and blue, 

Green and white, 

Fairy lamps 
The trees shall light. 

- 59 - 


For a while 
This task we’ll take, 

For the little 
Children’s sake. 

Humans soon 
Will find a way 
To light the trees 
On Christmas Day; 

If in too much 
Help we trust, 

Imagination 
Turns to rust. 

“ And that,” said the old chimney, as he finished 
singing, “ is the origin of the Christmas trees.” 

“ I think I would like to be an origin,” said the 
little chimney. 

“ And so you can,” the old chimney told him. 
“ Everybody can be the origin of something beautiful 
in the world . . . but I must get on with the story. 

“ Now for years and years Nicholas and his friend 
the Clown spent their days making toys and every 
Christmas Eve they took them in the sleigh to the 
children.” 


-60- 


ut after many years had 
passed in this happy manner, Claus became so old that 
he began to worry. He worried about who would carry 
on the toymaking for the children after he and the 
Clown were dead. 

“ You see, he had forgotten all about his mother’s 
strange dream and the promise the lame fairy had made 
that he should live forever. When he was a boy his 
mother had often told him about the dream and the 
visit of the fairy. But in later years, if he ever did 
think of this, he felt sure that the fairy’s promise that 
he should live forever had also been a part of the dream. 

“ So after they had worried a while the two old 
friends once more took their trouble to their pet goat. 
But even he could not answer such a difficult question 
as who would carry on the toymaking. 

“ The dear old Clown did his best to comfort 
Nicholas. He told him not to worry. He told him that 
something was sure to turn up — that in life, when we 
are unhappy and in trouble, something always does 
turn up. 

“ Now, they were never quite sure if they im¬ 
agined it or not, but the moment the Clown had said 
-61- 


these words they seemed to hear fairy voices whis¬ 
pering — 

If for a moment life’s dark with despair, 

Remember, we fairies are always somewhere; 

Just round the corner and just out of sight, 

Waiting to lead you back into the light! 

Waiting your call — to drive sorrow away, 

Waiting your coming — to join in our play, 

Waiting to tell you to never give up 
Till you’ve drained to the dregs 
Life’s glorious cup. 

“ But whether it was imagination or not, the 
Clown was right; for one night, very soon afterwards, 
something did turn up. A fairy turned up, and paid a 
visit to the little hut in which Nicholas and the Clown 
lived. It was, of course, the selfsame lame fairy who 
had promised Nicholas’ mother that her son should live 
forever.” 



-62- 


ear Claus,’ the fairy said, 
* you need not worry about the toymaking of the future. 
You can safely leave this matter to the fairies. We 
shall see that you really do live forever, and that you 
always fill the children’s stockings on Christmas Eve. 
Don’t you remember the promise I made your mother 
that you should live forever? You must have been 
told about it! On the very day on which you were born 
we fairies read your fortune from the drops of dew 
left within a golden buttercup, and by plucking the 
petals of the daisies.’ 

“ As soon as the lame fairy had said these words, 
hundreds of fairies appeared in the woods that sur¬ 
rounded Claus’ home. In her hand each fairy carried 
either a golden buttercup or a large field daisy. Hold¬ 
ing the flowers, they danced and sang, just as later you 
will see human children dance when, with the aid of the 
daisies, they tell their own fortunes. 

“ And now we are nearly at the end of the story,” 
the old chimney said, “ but we will sing you just one 
more song. This must be the last, however, for it is 
much too early for little chimneys to be awake. 

-63- 



“ Let us sing for him the song the fairies sang that 
day,” he continued, turning his cowl towards the other 
chimneys. “ Are you all ready? ” 

There was a chorus of assent. Then for the last 
time that night the air was filled with melody, as these 
quaint old chimneys sang to amuse their new little 
brother. 

This time, however, a strange thing happened. 
As the voices of the chimneys rang out hundreds of 
other voices joined in the song. They seemed to come 
from the depths of the woods. Glancing hastily around 
I saw by the light of the moon that the woods were full 
of fairies, each holding in her hand a buttercup or a 
daisy. Even the chimneys hushed their own voices to 
listen. And thousands of fairies sang: 

Yes, we fairies told his fortune 
Just as he has summed it up; 

We read it from the dewdrops 
Left within a buttercup, 

And by plucking daisy petals, 

One by one with careful skill, 

He will — he won’t — he will — he won’t — 

He will — he won’t — he will! 

His fortune in a buttercup, 

As read by fairy-lore, 

Foretold that he would give away 
His riches to the poor; 

-64- 


Of music played upon a harp, 

While little children dance, 

Such kindly acts as these, of course, 

Were visioned at a glance. 

We foresaw a Father Christmas, 

And the hut upon the hill, 

He will — he won’t — he will — he won’t — 

He will — he won’t — he will! 

The dewdrops in the buttercup, 

That clung upon the side, 

Contained the many wanderings 
About the world so wide; 

And the petals of the daisies 
Portended further hope, 

Of a bishop fully mitred, 

In a chasuble and cope; 

We foresaw the sleigh and reindeer, 

The toys, the children’s thrill, 

He will — he won’t — he will — he won’t — 

He will — he won’t — he will! 

That children in all years to come 
Should have their Santa still, 

They will — they won’t — they will — they won’t — 
They will — they won’t — THEY WILL. 


The singing ceased ... the fairies vanished 
. . . all was silent. . . . 

-65- 


Perched on the ladder I waited eagerly for the 
chimney to tell the remainder of his tale. At last I 
heard him say in a sleepy voice: 

“ There is little more to relate. ... As soon as 
Nicholas heard the words spoken by the lame fairy, 
and during the whole time the fairies were singing the 
song you have just heard them sing, he seemed gradu¬ 
ally to grow younger and younger and younger. Then 
in a loud voice — a voice that had regained all the vigor 
of youth — he cried out, ‘ The fairies have arranged 
everything . . . THE FAIRIES HAVE AR¬ 
RANGED EVERYTHING . . . OH, I’M SO 
GLAD . . . MY CHILDREN, MY LITTLE 
CHILDREN. . . 


-66- 


" rom where I stood on the 
ladder I listened and waited, but not another sound 
came from any of the chimneys. Cautiously I peeped 
over the edge of the roof to see what had happened. 
The chimneys, one and all, had fallen fast asleep! 

“ Never mind,” I said to myself, as I climbed down 
the ladder, “ what I have heard is so wonderful and 
so exactly what Gisela wanted to know, perhaps I can 
guess the rest.” 

Quickly I hurried home through the woods, often 
running in my excitement lest I forget any part of the 
chimney’s story. . . . 



I am home! After first peeping into Gisela’s room 
and finding her fast asleep I am now seated at my desk, 
-67- 


where for some time I have been typing out this legend 
of Santa Claus. I have written it down just as I heard 
it related by the chimneys of THE OLD HOUSE. 

I feel sleepy, but the task is nearly done. As soon 
as the sun, which as he slowly rises seems to be winking 
at me, as though to let me know that he is in the secret, 
has proclaimed that morning is here, I shall waken 
Gisela and tell. . . . 



HUSH! Not a sound! Gisela’s uncle has fallen 
asleep and I, my dear children, am a fairy. . . . Yes! 
I am the little lame fairy. The fairy who lived when 
Santa Claus was born, ever so many hundreds of years 
ago. . . . 

HUSH! SSH! I have been looking over his 
shoulder the whole time he has been typing. SSH! 
We must not wake him for I want to have a little talk 
with you children myself. 

This story of the life of Santa Claus, as the old 
chimney has told it, is quite true, but I see he did not 
- 68 - 



quite finish telling it. ... I must have sent the chim¬ 
neys to sleep too soon. 

Don’t make a sound and I myself will finish telling 
you the story. 

But first of all I want to tell you children of the 
world, for I want every child as well as Gisela to read 
this story, why I caused the merchant’s wife to have 
that dream, and why the fairies gave her a little fairy 
babe — the babe who grew up to become your Santa 
Claus. 

One day, long, long ago, when I was feeling a little 
unhappy because I was lame, I let some human chil¬ 
dren see me on my crutches. They, of course, did 
not know that I was a fairy, for I made myself look 
just like a little human girl. 

One of these children, who was named Iris, turned 
to her companions when she saw me and said: “ Oh 
look! There goes a poor little lame girl! ” 

As Iris said these words, two tears rolled down her 
cheeks. They fell into the cup of a purple tulip and 
changed into two beautiful rubies. You see I am wear¬ 
ing them round my neck. ... I always wear them 
in memory of the little human child who had shown 
pity to a fairy because she was lame. And because 
Iris felt sorry for me I decided I would reward all hu¬ 
man children by giving them a Santa Claus. 

Now I will finish telling you the story of his life 
from where the old chimney left off. Nicholas became 
a saint. He was called St. Nicholas, but we fairies like 
-69- 


you to call him either Santa Claus or Father Christ¬ 
mas, and this is what he wishes himself. 

Not only was Nicholas made a saint, but he was 
made the patron saint of all the children of the world 
. . . forever. 

HUSH! Now I want to talk to you about the 
promise I made his mother — the promise that Santa 
Claus should live forever. 

HE SHALL LIVE FOREVER, but the 
time has come when we fairies must ask you children — 
every one of you — to help us. 

Unfortunately, as I expect many of you know, 
there are some people in the world who go about try¬ 
ing to take the joy out of life. You may not believe it, 
but not so very long ago some of these strange people 
even went so far as to try to teach children that there 
are no such people as the fairies. We soon settled their 
nonsense. We got Mr. James Barrie to write PETER 
PAN for you and every child who has read the ad¬ 
ventures of the fairy Tinker-bell knows there ARE 
fairies. Of course nothing exists if you don’t believe 
in it — not even happiness. 

Nowadays there are certain people — I am sure 
they could never have been young — who have started 
a notion that Santa Claus does not really exist. Why! 
such people are more dangerous than the measles or 
the collywobbles. They seem to have entirely for¬ 
gotten how happy they were made when they were 
children —if they ever WERE children — by the 
gifts they received from Santa Claus. 

-70- 


Don’t you believe a word they say. THERE 
REALLY IS A FATHER CHRISTMAS and 
he SHALL live forever. He shall live forever and 
ever if you children, and all the children who come 
after you, will believe in him and love him as he de¬ 
serves to be loved. Those who are truly loved can 
never die. 

Now I want you all to say after me . . . hush 


. . . in a whisper — 


Dear fairy. 


We promise. 

we promise 

that when we are grown up . 

. when we are grown up 

and have. 

•and have 

little children of our own 

children of our own 

we will never forget . . .. 

. never forget 

to tell them. 

. to tell them 

the story of Santa Claus . 

’tory of Santa Claus 

how he loved children ... 

how he loved children 

and we will teach our children 

. teach our children 

to love him. 

. to love him 

so that their stockings 

. so that their ’tockings 

may be filled 

. may be filled 

on Christmas Eve 

. on Christmas Eve 

just as ours were .... 

. just as ours were. 

This we promise 

this, dear fairy, we promise. 


-71- 











- 72 - 































HO! . . . HUM! . . . UMPH! I must 
have fallen asleep. . . . And yet in my sleep I seemed 
to hear voices. Whispering voices . . . the voices of 
all the children in the world. ...HO! ...HUM! 
... I must have been dreaming. . . . Well, well I’ve 
had a nice nap . . . and now I must finish writing 
the— 

WHY! WHAT IS THIS? Someone has 
gone on typing from where I left off when I fell asleep! 
Perhaps it was a fairy . . . perhaps it was the fairies 
who caused the old chimney to tell the story of Santa 
Claus! 

Could it have been a fairy? ... I wonder. . . . 


- 73 - 










































































































































































































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